A Funky Monkey

                                         "A Funky Monkey"

At the psychiatric halfway house Aldo used to call me a monkey phucker.

Big Dylan fan!

Harry used to listen to a scratched Rolling Stones album all day long.

Bernie got the clap from night women.

Doug was a Jewish Christian Scientist who spent most of the time at the track.

I hung around garbage cans in Larchmont, years later, eating my bananas.

There was that skinny guy, who had a guitar he didn't know how to play.

Some dysfunction at the junction they called Futura House.

I knew many others who were graduates.

Such as myself and them.

Phil had to be the craziest of them all.

Later he became a womanizer who was a bit too eccentric for my taste.

He's still part of the crowd.

Then there was a guy named Steve, who I suspected of being a child molester who was in jail.

Many years later some of the people in my therapy session had jail records.

You see how easy it can become.

Love and sloppy kisses with tickle torture.

Been on psychiatric medication for forty years.

By Jonathan Billet-

61 years younger. 

02/22/15       

The Mind's Vault

                         "The Mind's Vault"

Life is a mystery.

Even to those who know it best, it remains a secret.

Well hidden in the caverns of the mind.

It remains in a vault without a combination.

Waiting for something or somebody to open it up. 

B4 we are conceived.

Or after we die.

It will fly open, allowing us in its domain.

The future really hasn't a past.

Just the mind's vault.

Captain Moonlight alias Jonathan Billet       

Fireflies In Heaven

"Fireflies In Heaven"

It had a heart's E.K.G.'s strip of fluctuating lines.

Up and down it moved, without a notion of any emotion.

Any vital signs of it?

Fireflies love to light up the skies in Mid Julys.

They get their light's highs from signals in outer space.

It's hard to keep up with their heart's light' glows at such a rapid rate.

Flashing on and off in dim moon's night.

When the heart stops beating in the dreamworld the universe comes to an abrupt ending.

Sending unstamped postcards throughout the mails.

Addressed only to heavenly earth.

Arriving at heaven's railroad station's next stop.

By Jonathan Billet 02.24.15        

Tot Hotty

                                "Tot Hotty"

The hot tot rode his bicycle at the County Court House.

An icicle fell from the roof.

It hit him in the head.

Then and there, he dropped dead.

It was spoken and said that he was set up.

But by who?

Not me or you.

It was like someone turned a screw.

But I still believe that I am a Jew!

Something old, that was once new.

Into the clouds, he flew.

Into an igloo.

By Jonathan Billet

02/20/15       

Mardi Gras Blues

                            "Mardi Gras Blues"

I listen to a Dixieland band.

Lying in the golden sand.

Brother, can you help a struggling man?

Can you give him a hand.

St. Croix of the cagen coastline.

Living in French Louisiana wasting the time.

Won't you spare a musician a dime?

For a Jamaican rum's rhyme?

This song hasn't a line.

Today everything is fine.

Playing French drums to the Rio's Rine.

The band hoots and toots.

While the people drink the fruit's wine.

To a dancing dirge.

Haiti doesn't thrive or survive.

Slurry vision and blurry speech from too much wine and rum.

Can't see in front of me.

My back is past.

Did I go too fast?.?.?.?...

By Jonathan Billet's -02/15/15        

Hot Spotted Bud

                                 "Hot Spotted Bud"

A hot spudded American lets out a hiccupping burp.

._.    ,       ---...        

,---,       {boo hoose cried he}  i!i!i!

i!i!i!...         !!!...      !i!i!i!...      ...!i!i!...

 '''''''A fear's tears''''''''...._ _ _

.Steam rolling - Rolling steam.

Toilet paper unrolling.  Rolling papers.

Radiator tiled toilet bathroom.

Tiled bathroom radiator's toilet.

Tight tushies.

Tushies' tight.

Empty tights.  

Tight empty.

Nightie tighty tight.

Woke up this mourning morning.

In morning's mourning.

Silver cloud.

In gold chalice.

End of story.

Morning glory.

White mare.

Black stallion.

Heady steed.

Bad deed.

Good thought...

Rarely sought.

Never caught.-.-.-.-.

Always over naught.....

By Jonathan Billet - 02/16/15       

Winter Storm Neptune

'Winter Storm Neptune"

A rhyming clock breaks a record around the block.

Breaking a rock's rock rock to a broad daylight.

Not a night light.

There is no difference there or here.

Just drank too much beer to have any fear.

So shed a tear my dear.

Haven't any cheese for the dancing fleas.

Death's defying act.

In a jail's packed street.

There isn't any heat.

Hornet bees can't swim under seas.

We're all stoned, so pass the bone.

Why don't you leave me alone?

Or stay quiet, while my mind roams.

In the foams of the beers, dreary dream.

This is never seen except on the silver screen.

By a passing Time's Square teen.

In his latest scene.

The sun weighs more than a ton.

My tears run faster than feet.

In the desert heat.

Where I sit in a February's seat.

By A Captain Moonlight alias a Jonathan Billet.

On a facebook's page mellowing and rotting with age.

Written at Eight-Twenty Four on 02.16.15        

An Exact Likeness

"An Exact Likeness"

In the museum halls I saw five paintings of my own twenty doppelgangers on a crowded bus.

In this dream, I looked out the window and saw ten more crossing Mamaroneck Avenue.

They were wearing identical clothing to my own.

I got off the bus and saw seven of my best friends' doppelgangers.

Were they all actors playing their roles?

All the people I saw in a dream looked like one another.

Were they all the same personage of me?

This raises more questions than it answered.

What is the world made of?

Photographic headlines that are alike every day?

Or is it made out of matzo balls' clay?

I am a nobody to say.

I am in my own way.

In a one act play.

By Jonathan Billet

02/14/05

Life Is

"Life Is"

Life Can Be Sad And Horrible. 

Bad And Mad.

Happy And Glad?

Life Subtracts.

Insanity's Add.

I Sometimes Feel Had!

It's Touched A Tad.

Can Be Good Or Bad!

A Living Fad.

Never Written In A Note's Pad.

Who's My Dad?

Where Is He?

Who's My Mother?

Where Is She?

What Happened To God?

Living Is Odd.

Like A Lightning Rod.

It's Time For A Hot Pod.

Love Is Old And Cold.

God Is Really Your Heart's Art Made Of Gold.

These Theories I've Been Told.

Life's Time Is Bought And Sold.

Too Precious To Fit Any Mold.

"Mourning Is Part Of Healing"

By J. Billet

02/13/15- Dedicated To A Buddy

Long Ways To Travel

"Long Ways To Travel"

Any which way is a long way to travel.

A horizon too far to see.

A cyclist traveling down infinity's road.

A path that can never be traveled upon.

The universe's distance.

A hole too big to dig.

Time's empty space.

Sounds not heard or ever spoken.

A line's endless directions.

The thoughts life's dreams and reality are made of.

Death and life.

By Jonathan Billet

02/13/2015

Sue's Poetry

"Sue's Poetry"

Sue was his honey bun.

They met when the heat was on the sun in poems.

On the swings in the park.

Her golden blond hair sailed in the air.

To her I remain unknown in the poem's fun sun .

She recited it on a school day.

She invited me to stay.

I went on my way.

We never did play. 

Except in the poetry by her most delicate hand.

J.Billet to Lime Rickey 02.12.2015        

Wifi Phones

"Wifi Phones"

Stereotyped phones ring.

Bluebirds steal and sing.

That's their thing.

Ping is to Pong as Pong is to Ping.

My cell phone has static on the text messages.

The electrical man made a housecall.

To make my texts readable.

I don't know what language they were written in.

The world will turn on its spin.

A paper mache universe is what we all live in.

In the solar systems of living dead.

Ringing steeple bells can't be heard and we can't be seen.

Except on a television screen.

Living can be mean.

I'm at the confectionary establishment eating candy and ice-cream.

Escaping through the radiator heat's steam.

An orange haze turns into a lazy daze that will bring out Moonlit Mays.

In my soon to be forgotten new craze.

It never will cease to amaze.

The players in Shakespearean plays.

I sometimes feel like I'm in a cage on this world's stage.

Waiting for another age.

When the books will turn to a new page.

Written my last year in San Francisco.

By Jonathan Billet

A Flattened Bagel

                                        "A Flattened Bagel"

Wine flows.

Crescents moon glows.

A sun shows.

In winter snow.

Winds blow.

Lights turn dim and low.

You've gotten old.

Its turned cold.

Stories I've been told.

That will never be sold.

Except in my retirement bed.

Where nothing is ever said.

Except to the dead.

Wish it was spoken to the living instead.

Life is a darker red.

A med will get me out of my feverish head.

God will keep me well fed.

By Jonathan Billet

-02/06/2015-Dedicated To Brother Randy       

Hippy's Hip

                               "Hippy's Hip"

i Dreamt I was motorcycling on Mars in the 60's.

NO thinG said only DONE.

We are all one.

Too much fun being at Woodstock in the 70's.

Find me, I'm not hiding.

Just aluminum siding.

While bicycle cycle riding.

At The Auckland Islands on a giant tortoise's back.

Drinking from aN AROMA CAFE'S coffee cup.

Given as memorabilia.

By a precious gift giver.

A C.E.O...!!!

EI, EI, EI, OHiii...

Mia, Mia, Myo, Moe, MY SMALL LEFT TOE.

So go slow.

If you want to be a gust of winds' snow.

On my television game show.

To let you know.

A fo is a fo.

of spelled backwards or sideways.

upside down or rightside up.

All a part of a new trip...

So try to not to be hip.

Jon Billet-02-08-2015      

Hot Pot

"Hot Pot"

An orange colored mouse with bloodshot eyes parachutes in blue skies.

Either a moron or genius, always answering questions never asked.

It's a void where prohibited.

I can write in poetic terms but I can't speak in them.

God rest the best.

Drool through the nose and drink through my ears.

Hear with my eyes and think with the tongue.

Always sing songs that have already been sung.

Hung around the playground when I was young.

Couldn't hear a sound because I listen through my eyes.

Walk with my hands and talk with my feet.

I'm an honorary member of the 3 Mouseketeers.

Mickey is a member too.

Ashes are on the sea sands.

We both found ourselves in foreign lands.

Always quoted the demands were our commands.

By Jonathan Billet- 02/07/2015

Shallow Moon

"Shallow Moon"

Running away from sun shadows.

Getting lost in the hours.

Hiding inside big dumpsters.

Joker jumping out and running down the street.

My feet walk awhile into a restaurant where I take a seat.

I pick up a bite to eat.

Can hear a distant musical beat .

I know it's time to go to sleep.

Dreamed I was in trouble deep.

Falling off a mountain that was steep.

I fell into a dark cave.

Didn't feel well because it was like being in hell.

My mind starts to swell.

Ideas jell into my head as I lay in bed.

Morning breaks.

The shopkeepers are getting ready to sell.

Listen to a bell. 

Singing a ringing.

I answer my door as a package hits the floor above the store.

But I feel it's impending doom.

Did I wake up too soon?

Underneath the shallow moon.

I hear a new tune.

By Jon Billet..._.-02-05-2015

B4 The World Started

"B4 The World Started"

Baseball batter-

Flour power-

Pitter patter-

Sour power-

In another hour.

Go slow - Past fast.

Broken window shade-

Thoughts fade-

Through life's oceans tides we wade-

Raining tangy lemonade in Miami-Dade.

Chiquita bonita Havana banana.

Majestic mansion made in Savanna.

Poquito bonito sunshine funtime. 

The world's is worth a copper dime.

Bad direction hasn't any times sign.

Don't get a traffic fine.

Picket white fence has a French ticket.

Gone to a seance's trance in France.

Teach me how to dance in a prance.

By Jonathan Billet-

02.04.-2015._.

The Flower Showers

"The Flower Showers"

Time for a hot and heavenly rain shower.

Don't let it get sour.

You grow stronger by the hour.

Flour has power.

My eyes will run in the sun.

The summer of the loved.

Summers of loving.

Loving summer.

A summer love.

I was lifted high in the sun's sky.

In the summer of loves.

I got to the Haight late for my date with Big Dee.

Sugar in packets.

Stirring soy milk into coffee.

Tonight the Big Dee will make love with me.

We won't be able to see clearly.

But what is will be.

Love is for free.

By Mr. B alias Jon Billet...02.04.2015      

The Uncertain Past

                                          "The Uncertain Past"

Don't have to speed in slow motion's past.

It goes too fast.

I think you were the greatest poet who ever lived at Columbia University.

I wrote you so.

As you well know.

The real in heaven is the unexpected.

In hell it's already known but never shown.

Time's lines are the unknown in a ninicking mime's rhyme.

Singers sing a song while I try to sing along.

That can't be right or wrong.

But reality can be unknown.

Listening to a telephone's ring.

I find it hard to fathom in a ladder's climb to the top.

A book of poems at last.

Something I hoped for in my past.

Never and forever, always.

Life is like a mystery maze.

To enjoy while it plays.

To live while it lasts on its many fasts.

It's what I strive for to thrive in my dive.

A librarian helped me survive in my parched throat quenching thirst to stay alive.

Does what he says or feels like saying.

A mystery even to a poet.

You just never know it.   

Life pays by a sand whipped bays.

Crying days.

An orange haze for yesterday's todays.

Cameo roles in life's plays.

What comes always stays.

In Jagger's mid sunny Mays.

Where I lose the ways?

Forward to the stars of a haven heavens of these plays.

See you in a few days.

In April skies blue highs.

Where nothing was done wrong in another poet's songs.

Heed its call or you are sure to fall.

By Captain Moonlight's song alias J. Billet.

on 02.03.2015

Still Water Lies

"Still Water Lies"

Still waters learn how to float by rote.

Rivers turn into streams made up in our dreams.

It seems that people don't talk but let out quiet screams.

The Winter birds fly as Spring and Fall cry a whispering sigh.

The songs they sing will turn into a new thing.

Making the vivid painting's colors Summer again.

The sunshine grows stronger, then weak again.

In the Winter's night I pray that we may eat in warmth and light.

During an east coast winter flurry.

My worry is that summer's bright heat will rob some of sleep.

But it will never weep and in our hearts it will stay for all the seasons to keep.

The mountains we climb are steep but not too deep.

By Jonathan Billet 

-02-03-2015

Sunday Saturn's Streak Of Lightning

"Sunday Saturn's Streak Of Lightning"

The water floats with the boats.

Rocks burn up in outer space. 

Hidden masks have no face.

Berkeley is where they threw mace in inner space.

In World War I, a pilot wasn't a King but an Ace.

I can't hit a homerun but slowly race across first base.

It's a dilemma of old age in the human race.

Not to waste but let's make haste.

That's really fate.

Life's nothing to hate.

So smash a Jewish wine glass and break a Greek plate to celebrate.

Baby patch kids play with baby patch dolls.

In a patch of sand in a sandbox.

This brings us back to burning space rocks.

Who is it that mocks the school of hard knocks?

Certainly must be Houdini opening up a magical lockbox.

Knocking, at the bank's door as it automatically locks.

So I'm stuck inside.

I've been taken for a ride.

In a rising tide.

By Jonathan Billet-02-01-2014-.-.-...

Time's

                           "Time's"

Time has no beginning or ending.

Neither does a straight line or the universe's broken holes in the clock.

All the world's clocks tell a different time of day.

It's seven o 'clock here and eleven in heaven.

Time is a difference in different countries.

It doesn't know the time of day or what it may become.

It's independent of the position you're coming from.

I don't care what the world has time for.

Now or the B4.

Solar systems and galaxies have different locations at dissimilar times of the days.

Inner and outer space have opposite times.

Causing nuclear reactors to blow their volcanic tops.

History has different thoughts in time.

It has no responsiveness that I can surmise.

No responsibility the same as me.

We try not to be obvious with what is copy.

It's more like we're mimicking rhyme.

When it's paradoxical to all mankind.

Everything in the world is insanity.

Leaving only the universe to remain magically sane.

Superman's really a meek Clark Kent of The Minor News.

All the inkblots ready to spill.

It doesn't know how to spell correctly.

It's so ill!!!...

i!i!i!.

By Jonny Billet's